


Complexities of Triage

by gallantrejoinder



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, POV Third Person Limited, Pining, Pissed-off River Gods, Pre-Slash, Todd is Pining, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 20:02:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19911400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallantrejoinder/pseuds/gallantrejoinder
Summary: Being thrown into a tree by an angry river god wasn't in Todd's plan for the day, but then, having a plan at all around Dirk Gently is a laughable endeavour.Still. Even the strangest of accidents can lead to unexpectedly intimate consequences.





	Complexities of Triage

The first thing Todd thinks after catching his breath is _ow_. The second thing he thinks is _shit, hope that’s not an attack coming on_.

He lifts his hand up to check, but there are no knives or other sharp objects attached to it, not even a visible wound, despite the searing pain. Squinting up into the sunlight, he carefully lowers his arm onto his stomach and contemplates how he got into his current situation.

Said situation is this: he is lying flat on his back by the side of a river, feeling like he’s been hit by a truck. Which might not be too far from the truth – Todd saw a documentary about floods once that compared a swollen river to an eighteen-wheeler.

It had probably been a bad idea to try crossing it. That one’s on Todd. Dirk had warned him, told him that the river was sentient and wouldn’t be letting them cross back over to civilisation until they returned its precious pebble, but no. Todd had insisted they at least try to get back to Farah, who was trapped all alone on the other side, tracking a horse which may or may not have swallowed the very pebble they were after. He should have just trusted in Farah. Todd’s pretty sure she’s the kind of person who would have been a horse girl in middle school. In any case, she’s definitely better prepared to be stuck out in the wilderness than Todd and Dirk are.

She had managed to track the horse across the river that morning via a naturally occurring tree-trunk bridge, which, naturally, had collapsed the second Dirk laid a toe on it. That had left them stranded on either side of the river. Farah had agreed to keep tracking the horse, while Dirk and Todd wandered around for the next four hours trying to find another way across. And of course, _that_ had led to them giving up and trying to swim across. Hence: their current position.

Speaking of which – Todd can hear a faint groaning sound a few feet to his right.

“Dirk? You okay?”

The groaning resolves itself into faint words, tempered by wheezing. “Alive. Though considerably discombobulated. And yourself?”

“Uh … the same.” Todd feels all his joints protesting as he moves from lying down (safe, comfortable, sustainable) to sitting up (bad). “Hang on. I’m coming over.”

“That’s fine,” comes the faint answer. “I may have possibly … Ribcage not good. Actually, very bad. Resting now.”

Uh oh. It’s never good when Dirk starts talking in short sentences.

Todd, in absence of any remaining dignity, finds himself making a series of pained noises as he gets to his feet. He avoids the river’s edge – which is only a few feet away, despite the fact that he felt like he flew for a solid ten seconds through the air at the moment of impact – and carefully picks his way through the tree roots and sticks lining the earth in search of Dirk.

Thankfully Dirk washed too far away. Todd finds him lying on a bed of moss and stone, looking thoroughly dazed. There’s a large boulder above Dirk’s head – it looks like he might have slammed into it when the wave threw them ashore.

“I think my insides have turned to lime jelly,” Dirk whimpers as Todd leans over him.

“Same here,” Todd groans. “No more attempted crossings until Farah gets back.”

Dirk nods kind of pitifully, barely able to move his head. “Help, please. Up. Thank.”

Todd stretches out his uninjured hand for Dirk to grab on to. Slowly, he leans his weight behind his arm, trying to haul Dirk up without yanking him too quickly and injuring both of them even more. Dirk lets out a noise like a deflating balloon as he slowly sits up, his face contorted with pain. Todd’s not much better, wincing as the movement strains his muscles.

Once Dirk’s sitting up, Todd flops down beside him – well, ‘flops’ is a strong word, ‘sags’ might be more accurate. Together they lean against the boulder, propped up like a couple of ragdolls.

“Dirk,” Todd says, after catching his breath, “this is in the top ten worst camping trips of my life. Just so you know.”

To Todd’s surprise, Dirk laughs, though the sound is cut short by a gasp, probably from the pain.

Before he can check on that, though, Dirk speaks. “How many camping trips have you even _been_ on?”

Todd opens his mouth to answer, but instead finds himself making a lot of undignified noises. “I – you don’t – Look, it doesn’t matter, _this_ one’s the worst.”

“Well, I was only meaning to remark that I don’t think you’ll ever beat _Farah’s_ childhood camping trips.”

Todd pulls a face at that. The generously named ‘camping trips’ of Farah’s father’s design had horrified both Todd and Dirk when they’d found out what the trips entailed. Farah had fondly reminisced about finding her way through the forest, at night, as an eight-year-old, back to her father’s cabin.

“Well, at least she’s prepared for this kind of … thing. She’s probably doing fine on the other side of the river. Especially if she’s found the horse by now.”

Dirk makes a disgusted noise. “Oh, don’t remind me. I _hate_ horses … Stupid, soulless eyes. You can never trust a horse.”

Todd rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re all in on the whole horse-hating thing nowadays. It’s so overdone.”

“No … I had a … bad experience with a horse once.”

Todd turns his head to look at Dirk, who’s staring darkly into the distance.

“Uh … you wanna elaborate on that a bit?”

Dirk shakes his head slowly. “Honestly, I’d rather not talk about it, Todd.”

“… Right,” Todd mutters, squinting at Dirk’s profile. He sighs, looking out at the idyllic, babbling river.

“It looks so peaceful,” Dirk says, resentfully. “You’d never guess it was a such a _touchy_ little bastard.”

“Do you think it’s safe to stay here? It’s gonna get dark eventually.”

“I guess we’ll find out when the Universe sends another patch of poison ivy to torture us with.”

“I don’t – I don’t think that one was on the Universe, Dirk.”

Dirk looks offended, but Todd continues speaking quickly to avoid having _that_ argument again.

“Anyway. I guess we’ll just stay in the tent again. When we … can crawl over there … eventually.”

‘There’ refers to their campsite, which they’d set up the night previous. The three of them had shared a very small and uncomfortably crowded tent. At least there’d be more room for Dirk to flail about in his sleep tonight. But of course, that idea hinges on them actually managing to get there before night falls.

“Okay, we need a game plan,” Todd says. “Farah’s not here. We gotta Farah this situation ourselves.”

“Right. Yes! WWFBD? What Would Farah Black Do? Farah would … Farah herself out of this unfortunate scenario, with pluck and ingenuity and not a little bit of hard work! Farah … would …” Dirk trails off, apparently struggling to imagine what _exactly_ Farah would.

“Injuries!” Todd blurts out. “Triage. Uh. Check we haven’t broken anything?”

“Yes – yes, excellent thinking, Todd!”

Todd lifts up his wrist, which protests at the movement. “I don’t actually know how to check if a wrist is broken,” he admits.

“Oh, I do!” Dirk sounds pleased with himself.

Todd, surprised, shifts his aching body to face Dirk. “You do?”

Dirk nods quickly, before stopping abruptly, wincing. “I asked Farah to teach me.”

“Why did you even – wait, when was this?”

Dirk squints, trying to remember. “About … two days ago. And oh, I don’t know, I just suddenly _really_ strongly felt like I needed to know, you know?”

Todd shakes his head slowly, “Universe thing. Okay.” He goes to hold out his wrist to Dirk, before remembering Dirk’s own injuries. “Wait, you’re – before, you said you hurt your ribs?”

Dirk wrinkles his nose. “Unfortunately, yes, it does appear that I’ve done a number on the old … calcium deposits.”

Todd fights the urge to either sigh or smile fondly – he hasn’t decided which – at Dirk’s … Dirkisms.

“Take three guesses as to what I ended up Googling the other week after that pararibulitis attack,” Todd says flatly.

Dirk’s eyes widen. “ _River gods_?!”

Todd opts for smiling fondly. “Nope. How to check for a broken rib.”

Dirk grins, one of those blinding smiles that always make Todd feel like he’s sleeping under a summer sky, the warmth on his face just gentle enough to make the world fade away, and just hot enough to sting a little. For a long moment, it feels like the rest of the world is just the setting for Dirk’s smile.

The ache in Todd’s wrist isn’t going away any time soon, though, so he looks away, inwardly cringing at himself for being so obvious. 

He holds out his arm gingerly. “So, what do you need to …?”

Dirk’s grin immediately fades into concern, a worried frown appearing between his eyebrows. “Oh, it’s a relatively simple thing – might hurt a bit, Farah said, but – wait, no, I have to do this in order, erm … Right, yes, okay,” he fixes Todd with one of his more determined looks and says in a practiced tone, “does your wrist hurt?”

Todd gives Dirk a flat look. “Yes, Dirk. I think we’ve established that.”

Dirk smiles sunnily, though it’s weakened a little when he tries to lean forward. “You should come a little closer for this part. I mean it doesn’t look swollen, but Farah said sometimes you can’t tell without actually holding the thing. Did you know that there are eight bones in the wrist?”

“Can’t say I did.” Todd shuffles closer, until his knees are pressing against Dirk’s thigh. Dirk is still propped up against the boulder, his long legs stretched out before him. Shooting pains are sparking up and down Todd’s arm the longer he holds it out without Dirk taking it, and it’s making Todd nervous – he knows an attack out here would be a very, very bad idea.

“Dirk?”

Dirk’s staring at Todd’s arm with something like alarm in his eyes. He glances up at Todd, startled.

“Right – sorry.”

He carefully takes hold of Todd’s arm, and Todd releases the tension in his muscles with a sigh of relief – which comes much too soon, since Dirk immediately drops Todd’s arm right onto his lap.

“Ow, _fuck_ ,” Todd yelps, another sharp pain racing through his arm. He nearly snatches it up again, but sudden movement is a bad idea right now.

His arm lies in Dirk’s lap, limp with pain, but even through the haze of it, Todd can feel the warmth of Dirk’s skin seeping through his jeans. Dirk is still cradling Todd’s arm in his hands, and his skin is blessedly cool against Todd’s tight, swollen skin.

“Sorry,” Dirk squeaks. “I don’t think I can hold anything up right now. Hurts.”

Immediately, Todd feels ashamed of himself. Dirk’s in pain too – and he’s already trying to take care of Todd. He doesn’t need Todd leaning on him, literally or metaphorically.

“It’s fine,” he reassures Dirk. “Just – um, is it okay where it is, for you to – you know?”

Dirk runs his thumb along Todd’s inner elbow. “It’s fine,” he says softly.

Todd firmly reminds himself that they are both seriously injured and he absolutely doesn’t have the time to get all – all fucking _moony_ over Dirk touching him. He’s done what Dirk would call a ‘bang-up job’ (and god, he hates that Dirk’s slang is rubbing off on him), keeping his inconveniently developing feelings to himself until now, he’s not gonna ruin their friendship over _this_. There’s absolutely no reason for Todd to get so worked up over Dirk checking if he’s injured.

Speaking of which, Dirk’s not actually doing much of anything right now, just rubbing his thumb along Todd’s skin, staring at Todd’s wrist. Todd’s gaze darts between Dirk’s inexplicable expression and the place where their hands meet.

“Do you – need me to do anything, or …”

Dirk jumps slightly, like Todd’s startled him. “Nope! No, I – just have to feel around a bit, see where the problem is.” He quickly gets to just that – delicately pressing his fingers into Todd’s wrist.

It’s painful, but not too bad. It’s nothing on pararibulitis. It takes a few pokes and prods before Todd suddenly hisses in pain, Dirk’s fingers finally discovering the source of the pain.

“There?” Dirk presses his fingers to the side of Todd’s wrist, running them along to Todd’s pinky and back.

Todd grimaces. “Yeah. There.” Still, through the pain, there’s that thrill, chasing Dirk’s fingers along the side of his hand.

 _Get a grip, asshole_ , an angry voice whispers inside his head.

“Hmm. Well, can you move it? Roll it in a circle?” Dirk shifts his hands to support Todd’s arm by the elbow instead of the wrist. Todd wonders whether the Universe is deliberately doing this to him – bringing Dirk in this close, for an extended period of time. Dirk’s touchy enough as it is, but this is next level extended contact. This is … painful in more ways than just the obvious one.

“I’ll give it a go,” Todd says, his voice not cracking by some miracle.

He rolls his wrist slowly, experimenting. He’s fine up until a point, but soon he has to stifle another squeak of pain and relax his hand onto Dirk’s leg once more. The way Todd’s arm settles, his wrist is in Dirk’s open hand, while his fingers just barely brush against Dirk’s thigh.

This is so much more painful than being thrown into a tree by an angry river god.

“Hurts a lot,” Todd says, entirely truthfully, “but it’s mainly along one side. Does that – mean anything?”

Dirk makes a face that can best be described as _ehh_ , which Todd takes to be a good sign.

“Could go either way. If you have broken it, it’s probably not a bad break? I think? It’s probably a sprain. Yes, definitely a sprain.”

“I forgot how bad you are at reassuring people,” Todd sighs, but there’s more affection in it than he intends.

“Well, I may be sitting on a broken rib or two right now, Todd, so honestly, I think you should be grateful for my expertise.”

“ _Farah’s_ expertise, Dirk, there is no way you are claiming credit for this!”

Dirk purses his lips, trying to repress a smile. “I suppose not.”

For half a second, Todd forgets their current situation. He forgets that they’re both heavily injured, separated from Farah with no way of contacting her, trapped in the middle of woods with a couple of granola bars for sustenance, and definitely in the bad books of a vengeful river spirit. For a moment, they simply _are_ ; Todd’s hand on Dirk’s thigh, Dirk’s hands cradling Todd’s arm so carefully, their legs pressing together like there’s any reason for them to be seeking out each other’s warmth on a late Summer’s afternoon.

Todd pulls his arm back, holding it to his aching chest.

He gestures with his free hand to Dirk’s ribs. “Do you want me to check out your chest?”

Dirk raises his eyebrows, and Todd’s brain catches up with what he just said. “Your – your _ribs_ , Dirk, oh my god. You are so immature.”

“I never actually implied anything, Todd. Frankly I think _you_ might be the one with the dirty mind.”

“Dirk …”

“Actually, no, you _definitely_ are – _I’m_ ace, _we_ don’t think about things like that. In fact, I would go so far as to say I’m a complete innocent in all of this,” Dirk protests in faux-prudishness, but he’s pressing his lips together, trying not to laugh.

Todd settles for giving Dirk a flatly unimpressed look, “Mhmm. Whatever you say.” He glances down where Dirk has snuck a hand up against his left side, guarding his chest. “Does it hurt when you breathe in?”

“Yes,” Dirk admits. “Sort of. It hurts a little less now, I think? Maybe? Hard to tell, my pain tolerance is wobbly at the best of times. Sensory processing is a shifting and nebulous art that I’ve never quite gotten the hang of.”

“That clears things up a bit,” Todd mutters. “Okay, I think I’m gonna need to feel your ribs, see if there’s an obvious break. If it’s not obvious we might be just … in the same situation, I guess? Might just be like, a muscle strain.”

Todd considers their relative positions. His right arm is the injured one, and Dirk is sitting on his left. That’s gonna make it difficult for Todd to check Dirk’s chest with his uninjured hand while they stay side by side like this. Todd could probably reach over and run his fingers along Dirk’s left side with relative ease, (physically speaking at least), but the right side will be harder. It also isn’t entirely clear which side Dirk’s injured, given that he keeps switching the side he holds, and he couldn’t even really answer whether it hurt to breathe. Todd could in theory just crawl around Dirk, but –

But he wants to be close to Dirk. And not just because he _always_ wants that. He wants to feel Dirk close by, safe, and whole. Todd glances down at his shaking left hand, curled in a fist in his lap, and thinks, _huh_. So being bodily thrown through the air by a force far greater than himself does seem to have had an effect on him.

Maybe that means it’s not selfish to ask?

“So – Dirk, you can, uh, say no if it’s not okay but – with my wrist – is it okay if I kinda just, climbed over you like –” Todd gestures futilely, trying to communicate something he’s too embarrassed to put into words.

For a moment, there’s this adorable, confused frown on Dirk’s face as he tries to interpret Todd’s request. His face clears suddenly.

“Oh, you want to sit in my lap!”

Todd nearly chokes. “That’s not – it’s – _I’m_ not –”

“Go ahead, I don’t mind!”

Todd glares at him. “Don’t tell Farah,” he grumbles, trying to avoid blushing.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dirk says, pressing his legs together so that Todd can clamber on top of him.

Todd tries very hard not to think about the fact that he’s straddling his best friend, who he’s very much in lo – well, no point thinking about that. The point is that they’re pretty damn close for two platonic friends, and Todd needs to check if Dirk’s broken a rib or three.

“Okay,” Todd says, resolutely ignoring the warmth of Dirk’s legs against his thighs, “I’m going to just sort of – feel around, with my hand. Just try to breathe normally.”

“Okay,” Dirk says softly, barely above a whisper.

 _Probably trying to focus on his breathing_ , Todd reminds himself.

He focuses on keeping his good hand steady as he reaches under Dirk’s jacket to run his fingers down over Dirk’s ribs, slowly, keeping his touch light. There’s no obvious break – nothing protruding through the skin or bulging where it shouldn’t. Unfortunately, there’s not much of anything.

“You’re not as skinny as you look, you know that?”

Dirk’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Is that an insult or a compliment?”

Todd swallows. “It’s not anything. It’s just … an observation. Just makes it hard to tell if you’ve broken anything, especially with the layers, man, are you wearing an undershirt?”

“Yes?”

“Of course, what am I saying,” Todd mutters. Dirk’s wearing a tie and button-up, and he was fully aware they’d be camping when he packed yesterday morning, so of course he’s wearing an undershirt.

“You can always unbutton me, you know, Todd.”

“Un– what?” Todd’s mouth goes dry all of a sudden.

“To feel my ribs?” The look on Dirk’s face is one of calculated innocence. “That’s what a nurse would do. I think. I haven’t always been conscious for most of my hospital stays. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen a regular doctor?”

“We’re – okay, when we get out of here, we’re going to see a doctor, Jesus Christ, Dirk. Have you even had your shots? Okay, no, don’t answer that.”

Dirk presses his lips together and raises his eyebrows, a clear _get on with it_ expression if Todd’s ever seen one.

Todd’s hand, through sheer force of will, doesn’t shake as he unbuttons Dirk’s shirt. It’s quite the feat of Todd’s ability to repress any inconvenient emotions, considering the way Dirk’s gaze never leaves his face, even as Todd focuses his solely on the buttons. It’s difficult enough unbuttoning the shirt one-handed, but Dirk’s tie is also getting in the way.

“Your – um, your tie …”

“You can loosen it,” Dirk says, meeting Todd’s eyes.

Oh, okay. That’s normal and fine. It’s so fucking normal. Todd’s gonna be completely chill about this.

He reaches up and pulls on Dirk’s tie carefully, ignoring how hard his heart is beating, loosening it just enough to flip it up over Dirk’s shoulder, the back of his hand brushing Dirk’s chest as he does so.

“Should – is it okay if I go under your other shirt too?”

Dirk nods. “Whatever’s most convenient.”

Convenient. Yeah. That’s definitely Todd’s primary motivator here, not the fact that he’s desperate to reassure himself of Dirk’s safety by being way, way too close for plausible deniability.

He slips his hand underneath Dirk’s shirt, and Dirk starts.

“Your hand is cold,” Dirk says, wrinkling his nose.

Todd, who had frozen up the second Dirk got all tense, rolls his eyes. “It’ll warm up.”

He moves his hand slowly up over Dirk’s right side, rib by rib, but there’s still no obvious swelling, let alone a break.

“Take a breath.”

Dirk breathes in, but still Todd can’t feel anything. “I think you’re okay on that side.”

“Well, yes, it only really hurts on the left.” Dirk’s voice is puzzled, but he’s fiddling anxiously with a bit of moss, avoiding Todd’s gaze.

“What – _Dirk_!” Todd can’t keep the exasperation from his voice. “You could have mentioned that. Now I look like an idiot.”

Dirk manages to look a little guilty. “You were doing such a good job, I didn’t want to interrupt!”

Todd takes a very deep breath. “Just – okay, let me try the other side.”

“Absolutely!” Dirk moves his left arm back, giving Todd access to his side – though he makes a pained face at the movement.

Todd begins to inspect Dirk’s left side. It’s tricky – he has to sort of twist his hand around to do it – but he recognises the second that his fingers brush over the rib that’s hurting Dirk. Mostly because Dirk yelps very loudly. Todd instantly moves his hand away from the offending rib.

“Gonna take it that’s the injured one,” he says, grimacing in sympathy.

“That’s the one!” Dirk wheezes. “Although – now, Todd, you mustn’t be angry …”

Todd narrows his eyes. “What have you done?”

“First of all, I’m offended that you think _I_ have done anything. Need I remind you, Todd, that it was in fact _you_ that insisted we try to cross the river, which – judging by the look you are giving me now, is something not under discussion – but the point is, this _really_ isn’t my fault.”

“What. Are. You. Trying. To. Say?”

“I …” Dirk juts his jaw out like a nervous bird, “I may have already broken a rib. Many years ago now, under circumstances far too complex to describe given _our_ circumstances, although there was a bit about a coffin that was bigger on the inside – erm, never mind, not important – and I broke my rib and _that-might-be-why-it’s-hurting-now_?”

Todd stares at Dirk for a second. And then he slumps in defeat. “So, this is probably an old injury that’s just flared up again because you got thrown into a boulder?”

“… Maybe?”

Todd checks the spot again. Dirk stays very still – impressively still, for Dirk – while Todd presses carefully. There’s no lump, no creaking sensation, no swelling. Dirk’s skin is warm to the touch, but, it seems, there are no broken bones beneath it.

“All right, I’m calling it. No broken ribs.”

He looks up, finally, from Dirk’s middle to find Dirk already staring at him. Todd suddenly remembers that he’s straddling Dirk’s thighs – his body might be too battered to take much notice right now, but Todd has a terrible feeling he’s going to have to work very hard not to think about this exact moment in the weeks and months to come. Especially when he’s alone. Especially when he’s alone and –

Oh, god, his hand is still resting against Dirk’s side, under Dirk’s shirt. Todd’s touching Dirk – as in, actually touching him, pressing his hand against the sensitive skin of Dirk’s waist. He can feel Dirk’s lowest rib under his thumb. The chances of Todd being able to forget any of this are rapidly plummeting to zero.

And the longer he stares into Dirk’s eyes – Dirk, who is usually so verbose, but is now quietly watching him like he’s waiting for Todd to say something, _do_ something – the more convinced Todd’s becoming that he doesn’t _want_ to pretend this never happened.

“Todd?”

“Yeah?” Todd can’t stop staring – waiting for something he can’t even convince himself to put into words.

Dirk opens his mouth, and Todd thinks for one, glorious second, that he’s going to say something momentous. But then Dirk closes his mouth and swallows.

“We should get back to the tarpaulin-house-rig-up place.”

Todd lets out a breath, and closes his eyes. “The camp site.”

“Yes, the temporary house camp.”

“Right.” Todd doesn’t hesitate to climb off Dirk, though he thinks he catches a glimpse of – something, on Dirk’s face, something that almost makes him want to stay where he is a little longer, just to see what would happen. But he doesn’t. He’s always been good at running away from confrontation.

Because if Todd _is_ mistaken about what he thinks – what he _hopes_ he saw, it would probably kill him.

They walk back to the camp site in fits and starts, pausing occasionally to rest in the grass, or when there’s a conveniently placed log for them to sit on. Dirk appears to be regaining his strength, because he’s starting to talk a bit more, keeping up a fairly constant stream of chatter about … well, the exact kind of weird bullshit Dirk tends to talk about. It’s comforting.

Still, they’re both exhausted by the time they get back. By wordless agreement, they share a bottle of water, a couple of painkillers, and the remaining granola bars, before stripping off a couple layers and sliding right into their sleeping bags. It being a summer night, they thankfully don’t really have to worry about the cold. Even without Farah there though, the tent isn’t exactly roomy. Which means Todd has more than enough time to stare at Dirk’s back as the night falls around them, settling over their shoulders.

There’s this voice at the back of Todd’s head. It was born the day he learned about Amanda’s diagnosis. At the time, he thought of it as his conscience – the thing which would guide him to do the right thing, and remind him of exactly how badly he’d fucked up his life thus far. It was a good voice, a voice which would never let him be as selfish as he used to be ever again. The voice has guided him for years, keeping him from ever taking more than he deserves, and the one, _singular_ thing which made him start to doubt it, is lying beside him right now, rolling onto his back, flinging out a hand between their bodies.

When Todd’s around Dirk – and Farah, too, nowadays – the voice doesn’t seem like a conscience anymore. Todd knows the difference between good and bad. He doesn’t need a cruel, cutting voice to tell him that. The voice has started to just seem like a very angry, bitter part of himself, a part that he’s been convinced he deserves to have, simply for daring to go on living. And without it – or at least, with the newfound ability to defy it – Todd’s discovered that he has the potential to be brave.

But of course, that ability depends on his willingness to act.

Todd stares at Dirk’s hand, lying between them. Dirk’s either asleep or doing a very good job of pretending to be. Either way, Dirk’s a sleep-cuddler (as Farah had discovered that morning). Which probably means that it’s okay to reach out. It’s okay to reach out with his uninjured hand and brush Dirk’s fingers.

So he does.

And it’s so slow, so deliberate. Todd holds his breath, the drone of the crickets outside the tent filling his ears, and reaches for Dirk’s hand. His fingers just brush against Dirk’s palm, before settling where they are, half-resting on top of Dirk’s open hand. Todd closes his eyes. He can sleep like this. The faintest sensation of Dirk’s pulse under his fingertips is more than enough.

Only, as Todd drifts off, the pull of his body towards sleep too strong to ignore, he feels Dirk’s fingers close around his hand. And then – the sensation of Dirk threading their fingers together, holding tight to him, like Dirk wants the reassurance of Todd in return.

He wonders whether he’ll be so brave in the morning. But right now, with the heaviness of exhaustion upon him and the weightless joy of Dirk’s hand in his, he thinks he could be.

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr.](https://gallantrejoinder.tumblr.com/)


End file.
